


Returned flowers and Apple pie

by chiyokintou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffeeshop AU, Florist AU, Fluff, M/M, coffee shop AU, flower shop au, flowershop au, jeanmarco, jeanmarco fluff, jeanmarco oneshot, marcojean - Freeform, marcojean fluff, marcojean oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:54:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiyokintou/pseuds/chiyokintou
Summary: One day Jean Kirschtein barges into a flower shop to return his flowers. Something like this has never happened before, and to the shopowner, Marco Bodt, this tells an amazing story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wrote a very simple coffee- / flower shop au because I was a little bored. I hope you'll enjoy it!! (even though there will definitely be lots of mistakes.)

“I’ve come to bring these back.”  His face stood hard. It was raining outside. He was drenched. His black neat jacket, his sneakers, his ash-coloured hair, everything was wet. The tip of his nose and his cheeks were pink, which looked weird next to the angry (or more like hopeless) look he had on his face. 

The flowers he was holding were wet too. “You want to return the flowers?” 

“Is that impossible?¨  He pulled his arm closer to him, so that the flowers touched his chest. 

I coughed. “It’s not that it’s impossible. It’s just that no one has ever brought back flowers before.” I tried my best to grin at the man.  “But I’ll take-”

“I can also just give them to you. I don’t need my money back.” He put the flowers on the counter. 

“That’s alright. I’ll give you your money. I can still sell them just fine.” 

I got fifteen dollars out and held them out to him. He took out his wallet and pushed the bills into it roughly. He had little patience, it seemed.    
One of my favourite instrumental songs was playing on the radio, I believe it was Chet Baker’s version of Embraceable you, and I remember wondering why even something like that couldn’t make his face a little bit calmer. 

“Would you care for some coffee?”  

He looked at his hands and scratched his own palm. “Yeah sure,” then he looked up. “But aren’t you supposed to close in a while?”

I smiled “Yeah. Please sit down at the table standing there.”  He walked toward the table and sat down in silence. Between all those flowers he looked a little out of place. His clothes were entirely black and grey. His eyes stood sad. It made my heart clench.  “Coffee!” I sang and walked up to him. “Do you drink it black?”

“Yeah I do.”  he glanced outside to watch the rain fall. 

I sat down in front of him. The wooden chaired scratched the floor. I had made some cappuccino for myself, with some cinnamon sprinkled on top of it.  

“Thanks” He took the cup into his hands, put it up to eye height, and stared at it. “A dog on your coffee cup?” 

I laughed softly, turned around my cup, and showed him the cat that was on my dog. “Of course.” 

He chuckled and then sipped his coffee. His smile was small and thin. His lips were white because of the cold. He looked like a different person when he laughed. That was a good thing. It was a good thing to see this man I did not know smiling.  It made my stomach turn to see him pushing his hand through my hand. Nervousness rushed over me. 

“You like Chet Baker?” 

I grinned. He did want to talk to me.  “Yeah. Do you?” 

“Kinda. I like ‘almost blue’ most. Does that make me a cliché?” 

I leaned over and put my elbows on the table. “No.. Not really. It makes you a stereotypical character.” 

“It does now?” He snorted. 

“Probably not. But it seems that way right now. Sad, dark clothes, drenched by rain, bringing back flowers.”  His face went serious for a second.  As if he was thinking about all that he was and what happened. “I’m sorry. I was joking a bit.” 

He smiled. “No. You’re probably right.”

I stared at him for a while and he stared right back at me. “What kind of person brings back flowers?” 

“Did you invite me for coffee to ask that?” I nodded. He fell into silence. He stared at the pink roses in buckets for a while. The silence was logical and it didn’t fall heavily. I leaned back in my chair again, and threw the last bit of cappuccino into my mouth.  “Those flowers were for someone who rejected me.” 

“I see..” 

“She didn’t want to have the flowers. She gave me a bag of my stuff.” he nodded to the bag that he had put down on the floor. “And that was it. We’re never seeing each other again.” 

So he was straight. Of course he was. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. She tried to love me, believe me.” he scratched his own hands again. “She’s beautiful really and I thought that we were in love because of that, but we just aren’t.” 

“I see.” He was so good looking. His cheekbones and jawline were strong and straight. His hair had an insane leven of the ‘just out of bed’ look going on and his eyes stood intelligent. “If I can do anything for you, just tell me.” 

“You barely know me.” 

“You barely know me too.” 

He chuckled.  “Yet here I am. Drinking coffee with you.” His eyes shifter across the room. He swallowed more than what was necessary. His mouth had formed a smirk. It was hard to tell what he was feeling. 

The bell of the shop rang. The man stood up with me and said that he had to leave anyway. “Wait a second.” I mumbled. I walked back to the counter and got the flowers. “Take your flowers back.” 

“Why?” 

I smiled “There’s a better memory that comes with them now?”  

He smirked and took the flowers out of my hand “I guess.” 

“Oh!- and..  What’s your name?” 

“Jean. My name is Jean.” Jean. Jean the guy of who I expected that he would put those flowers in wine bottles, because he was the kind who owned no vase. 

I smiled. “My name is Marco.” 

Jean walked out of the store after giving a small wave. His legs were thin which looked good with his grey jeans. Even from behind you could see that he was upset, as if he always was. That was nice. I liked that.

In the last second he pulled his capuchon over his head again, so that I was sure that he would not look back to smile at me. 

 

‘Best relaxing piano studio ghibli collection 2016’  that’s what the playlist I had on in the shop was called. It made everything seem too happy, like the whole world was a fairytale, and it was amazing. I had a cup of Dirty Chai tea on the counter and I was making some, dare I say it myself, amazing looking bouquets.  A young girl had come in to buy some flowers for herself, a few people had come in to buy flowers for the ones they loved, a few older people had come in to buy flowers to put on the grave of people they loved. Funny thing about flowers is that they are only being bought by people with good intentions. People with bad intentions almost never buy flowers. You must care for something to buy flowers.

Jean came in again when on a more sunny day. He was wearing a thinner jacket and some suit shoes. His face stood calmer though he was still frowning. He was handsome. Definitely still handsome. I wanted to tell him this. “Jean, how’s it going?” 

“Better.”  he was honest. That was amazing. You don’t find that often. “Today is my mum’s birthday.” 

I smiled. He seemed like a fighter but he was actually a lover. “That explains it! I already thought it was weird to see you here.” 

“I’m a flower person.” 

“You are?”

He rolled his eyes. “No. Do I look like one?” 

I laughed. “Absolutely not, but it would be terrible to judge you by just your looks.” Though I kept doing that. It was just too easy. He had the bags, he had the face, he had the dark and neat clothing, he had everything to fit.  Maybe he even smoked. That would just make everything damn complete. 

“What would you like?”

“Something fancy as fuck”, he said, and so I went to walk through the room like a madman to pick the most beautiful flowers. I don’t know why I wanted to impress Jean’s mother but I did. So I made a bouquet that was as beautiful as I could imagine. Lot’s of warm colours. Red’s and oranges. One that would be beautiful to everyone. I took flowers that almost no one knew and put them in there. The bouquet would need a vase that was bigger than the one an average person had standing on their table.  “Like this?” 

“That looks awesome” He said. 

“Fancy as fuck?” I quoted him. It felt awkward to hear myself cursing. 

He laughed.  “Dude, that’s the fanciest bouquet I have ever seen.” 

I brought it to the counter and started wrapping it up. I did so with see-through paper and a brown overwrapping. “What colour ribbon do you want?” 

“I don’t fucking know” he chuckled. 

“I’ll do red and orange.”  

Jean studied my hands as I carefully wrapped the bouquet. His eyes followed my every move. I felt his stare on me but chose not to comment, because it would have scared him away. His gaze was exactly where I wanted it.  “Even your hands have freckles.” In the name of the Lord this man was going to give me an heart attack. My hands started shivering for a second. He must have noticed. He made me nervous.  

“Yeah they do. I have freckles everywhere.” 

Jean chuckled. “I like ‘em.” 

I decided not to answer that, for the sake of my own life. If he had said one more word I would have made it very clear that I found him very attractive and that I was very pissed off that he loved a woman and that I would really really not mind showing him all my freckles. I would probably add that I liked the fact that he wanted to take care of his mother too. 

“That will be twenty dollars.” 

Jean stared at me. “Fucking liar.” 

“What?” 

“That shitty bouquet I bought for Mikasa was fucking fifteen dollars, ain’t no way this one is twenty.” So her name is Mikasa. 

“That bouquet was not shitty.”  

He sighed. “You’re giving me a big ass discount am I right?” 

“Might be.” I smirked cockily and held the bouquet out to him. 

“How much would this normally cost?”

I laughed a little. “You don’t want to know.” and you know what he did? He gave me the damn puppy eyes. And you know what? It worked. That was even worse. I was having a stroke because of those eyes. I was going either bend him over the table to shut him up or tell him the truth. I did the second.  “It would be about forty three dollars.”

“Marco.. You are insane.” 

“I won’t take your money so please just thank me.” 

He frowned. “I keep having to thank you. How about you stop being so damn nice. It’s unfair to us normal pe-” His phone rang. It galmed through the room and scared the hell out of Jean himself. I laughed at him. This time I didn’t bother trying to keep my voice down. I laughed wholeheartedly.  

He picked up the phone. “Hey Ma! Yes I’m on my way.. Apple pie, I guess.. No don’t cook my favourite, you’ve got to cook your favourite. Cook mine on my birthday.. Okay Ma, bye, see you in a second.” 

And I stood there, grinning like a jerk, as if I wasn’t falling in love with him so deep that I could never get out of it anymore, during that conversation.  

“Don’t look at me like that.” Jean mumbled grumpily. 

“You should take the flowers and leave, your mother is waiting for you.” 

He sighed. “I’m going to make this up to you.” 

“Do whatever you want.” 

He paid and started walking towards the door, with the bouquet in his hands. “Fight me. I can be nicer than you are.” 

“I totally believe you.”

He cringed. “Please don’t believe me.” 

“I do.” 

“Well fuck.” and with that he walked against a customer. He apologized with a frown on his face, the customer smiled at him, and I laughed lightly and whole. 

 

I have no idea why he made me so happy. He was grumpy but he could take a joke just fine. At least my jokes. It had been a while since I had found laughing that easy. I smiled a lot, but I laughed pretty rarely. 

Funny thing is that it didn’t make me panic. It made me hope. Hope without panic doesn’t often happen to me. Once I really want something I always get afraid I might not get it. This time I knew, almost for sure, that I couldn’t get what I wanted, still it felt great. Maybe I was finally adjusting the Buddhism wisdom I had read. Enjoy life in the moment. Be happy with what you get. What I got was grumpy and handsome. So I thanked Buddha. 

 

Jean walked in the next day too. “Hey Marco.” 

I sat up straight automatically. “Jean..” 

“I brought something for you.” I swallowed. “My mum wanted me to give you some of the pie she had made. I told her about the flowers and she thought it was the sweetest thing ever. She’s too nice. Anyway-” he put a paper box on the table. His mum obviously did this more often, because else she wouldn’t have perfect boxes for it like this. “That’s the pie. It tastes great if you ask me. You’re not allergic to apple are you?” 

I smiled brightly “I’m not. Thanks, Jean.” 

“Ain’t my idea.” He leaned against the counter. “So don’t think that I don’t owe you anymore or anything.” 

I laughed.

He frowned. 

“What time do you finish?” 

I looked at the clock. Though I finished at the same time every day. I would close the shop around six, like every other shop did in smaller cities and villages. “Six.” 

“Let me take you out for something to eat.” 

My heart almost dropped into the floor. I could almost hear the wood on the floor crack. Jean wanted to go out for dinner with me. That was a normal thing to do, as friends, I had to remind myself, but at the same time I couldn’t stop thinking about how he had no good reason to actually take me out for dinner. He was a little interested at least. 

“What kind of food do you like?” 

“Everything.” 

He rolled his eyes and sighed “Very helpful, man” 

I chuckled “Let’s go eat something we never eat.” 

“Hmm.. I heard of a very good Afghan restaurant” My eyes lit up and I nodded happily. Something I had never done with a lovely man I had just met.  Jean suddenly started scratching his palm like he had done on the first day again. He looked down. The sudden change was strange to me. “Unless you have someone to go home to. Of course. Don’t want to keep you-” 

“No.. No I don’t.” 

“Oh.. Alright then” He smiled and put his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll pick you up at-” He looked at the clock and fell into silence.  “It’s already half past five.”

I chuckled. “Yeah I know..” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah..” He awkwardly shifted. “Just sit down, Jean. I’ll go get you some coffee.”    
When I came back Jean was sitting on the one, small table we had, looking at his hands and panicking. Jean didn’t look like it but he was quite a nervous person. He shifted, scratched his hands, and breath way faster than I did. I liked that in him. It was obvious though. 

“What’s up?” 

His head shot up. As if he had not expected me to come back. 

I put the coffee down in front of him. 

“I wanted to ask you something but.. it  might be a weird thing to ask. I don’t want to offend you.” 

I chuckled. “Jean,  I’m not that easily offended.” The chair in front of him looked quite lonely. I slowly pulled it out and leaned over to look at him a little better. I let my chin rest on my hands.  “Please ask me.” 

“I wanted to ask if you, well, if you’re attracted to men. If you’re gay. If you would-”

The bell of the shop rang. A man in a suit walked in. He picked the first bouquet of roses he saw and walked to the counter. 

Jean stayed silent. I waited for him to finish. Or perhaps for a hint that he wanted my answer yet, but Jean was staring at the man in silence.  

“One second.” I whispered softly.  The man turned around and smiled at me. “Roses for the special lady?” 

“Yes.. I know she wouldn’t want some from the grocery store. She loves this place.” The man looked tired. You could see that he had had a long day of work. 

That was the reason I worked here. That was what I wanted. And I wanted that for myself too. I wanted someone to bring me flowers just because. I wanted someone to know what I like. I wanted someone to come home to me, and I wanted them to come home to me every single day. 

Things like that come later, when you’re gay, but they’ll come.  

“That’ll be twelve dollars.”  He put the money into my hand, told me to keep the change, while I tied some red ribbons around the see-through paper. “Please come again.” 

As soon as the man walked out of the shop, I walked after him and closed the shop. I locked the door and dimmed the light. Jean watched my every move. I tried not to stare at him too much. The skin on his palm was gone on some places.  

The music that was playing sounded a little bit louder now. The sky was grey.

“Jean.. About what you asked,” he nodded with wide eyes, “I’m gay. If that is what you’re wondering. I hope that doesn’t make it so awkward that you don’t want to have dinner with me anymore.”  Jean just stared. His eyes were tearing me apart. “We’re just going as friends.” 

“Oh.” Oh?  

“Jean..” I walked closer to him and sat down on the chair next to him. We were closer now. That made everything worse. That made everything better. I don’t know.  “Do you, perhaps, want it to be a date?” 

He sighed, opened his mouth, closed his mouth again, frowned and then he mumbled “Well, yeah.. I thought that that was obvious.” 

“It was not,” I laughed, “but I’m glad.” 

And it was terrible, because I wanted to kiss him that second. I wanted to take him to the back and kiss him against a wall. I wanted to tell him how good he looked. 

Instead I took his hand. I let my hand slide over the skin he was constantly scratching and pulling and asked him to stop doing that. 

“Force of a habit.” he whispered.  I don’t know why but the situation asked for whispers. Maybe so that we had a reason to lean in even closer. 

I smiled silently. “Alright then.” 

“Afghan food.” 

“Yes.”

But as soon as I stood up Jean grabbed my wrist. When I looked at him, he looked at everything but me. “Actually, we can also go to my place.”

I smirked. “Because of my answer to your last question?¨  

“Well fucking- of course because of that.” 

I laughed wholeheartedly. He was anything but smooth. No smoothness to be found in this man. “Mine is closer.” I pointed at the the ceiling to tell him that I lived above the shop. He looked at the ceiling and took a few seconds to realise what I meant, but when he did he smiled sweetly.  

“That’s amazing”   
I dragged him upstairs, a smile playing on my lips.. Pulled him up while holding his hand, as if I had no excuse to hold his hand if it wasn’t this. He followed without complaining, and once we came in he pushed me against the door to kiss me. I let go of every muscle in my body. He was shivering. Nervous. I wondered if he had kissed a man before. 

My hand disappeared into his hair. By pulling his hair I turned his mouth to me even better. He smiled against my lips.

That meant a lot to me. That little smile send shivers down my spine.  

Our lips parted and I smiled back at him. I asked him if he wanted to sit down for a bit. He did. We sat down on the couch together. At first we sat side by side, against each other. Then he kicked out his shoes and put his legs over mine. “We still have to eat.” 

“We do.”

We both ignored that. I grabbed a blanket from the other side of the couch and carefully put it over Jean’s legs and my lap. He dropped his head against my shoulder and caressed me with his nose. “Are you comfortable?” he asked me. 

I smiled. “Of course.” 

He grinned against my neck. “I’m not moving anymore.” 

“I’ve got to cook.” 

He sat up straighter, his legs still on mine, and kissed my lips nervously. He was a little bit nervous again, compared to the way we had walked in. “T-too bad.. I’m on top of you.” 

“That sure is a shame.” I grinned against his cheek. “You want to call in some pizza?”

“If you go eat Afghan food with me tomorrow.”

“If you let me cook for you the day after.”

He grinned. “Alright.” 

I picked up my phone and started calling the pizza delivery. The whole time Jean was laying against me with a smirk as if he had just won a medal. He kept pushing his feet and butt closer to me, until he was like a child laying in my lap. I was weak for him. I kissed the top of his head when I finished talking on the phone.

“What kind of person returns flowers?” He asked me. 

“A beautiful one.” 

He chuckled. “No, someone stupid.. Flowers are beautiful.”

“Oh,” He kissed the side of my nose. “Well maybe that’s the best thing to be. Sometimes.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> Please tell me what you think (:   
> or maybe read some of my other (better) coffee- and flower shop au's :D


End file.
